Perceptions
by Azumizai
Summary: Matthew was highly unusual. Or was he? ...Wasn't he?  Points of views make the best and worst of people, and it ran Matthew's life.  In his second year of university, just how will perceptions affect him? :: Sorta-Kinda School AU... kinda.
1. Do not just lay on the road

**Genre** : Family, Drama, Psychological  
**Rating** : T for slightly adult themes and possible swearing  
**Disclaimer** : This fanfiction is set in a generalized ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. It's based off of the characters and my interpretations of them. Character names _obviously_ used.  
**Characters** : Matthew and others. There, as with all my fics, _no defined pairings_. If you wish to see a pairing and squeal of it, do so and have fun.**  
Ownership** : Like a lot of people here... I really don't own Hetalia at all.

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**Lesson 1 Summary** : It is to be noted that laying on the road can lead to unfortunate circumstances. What these circumstances are, are entirely up to the road one is on, and the people one is with. But. It's still unadvised. One thing may lead to another, and it could get pretty uncomfortable. So it's pretty safe to say...****

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**Lesson 1 : Do not just lay on the road**

To say that Matthew Williams was not unusual would be completely wrong. It would be, as any other assumption any bystander made about him, a very wrong observation. Matthew Williams was not, and never had been, a normal boy. At least, this is exactly what he believed, and if he believed it himself, then who was to say that he was wrong?

It just had to be true, right?

It was true, wasn't it?

After all, any person that did know him - and not that many people did - would say that there was something deeply _wrong_ with him.

His life was different. Perhaps if he knew anyone beyond the stage where they realised something was wrong, they would admit that yes, his life was very odd. Contradictory. He ran his life similarly, but not quite on-par with the rest of the world.

Matthew knew this. He knew how everyone else went about their days. They had full time jobs - nine-to-five - dogs, wives, and children. They were kids going to school in their parent's car, or University students living in-res and hanging on weekends and non-study nights to have fun. They were loved ones, boyfriends, girlfriends, significant others, cheaters, lovers. They could be teachers coming to class to teach willing, and unwilling, students. They were also students taking classes for their own gain, or for extra credit. They could be family. They were brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers. _Family_.

Thousands of things like that. Hundreds of thousands. He knew it all vaguely. But his life wasn't quite like that.

It was a strange way to get on with life; to live parallel to the rest of the world. He lived side-by-side with the thousand faceless others; those husbands, wives and students; those teachers that drove to the grocery store after work and drove home to cook supper. But it was his life; it was just how he lived it.

He lived parallel and was conscious to the other's ways. He worked this, lived his way, alongside them, but separate from them. He blended into the crowds, turning invisible, until he was just another person, walking down just another sidewalk, like any other, normal University Student attempting to catch the bus home.

Ten o'clock. Five minutes till the last bus. Matthew was aware he was a minute away, at the speed he was at, from catching the stop. Four minutes to spare.

He smirked and walked briskly through the crowd, clutching his brown bag in front of himself protectively. A fireworks festival had just ended, and it was vomiting crowd after crowd of extra people onto the streets. He was jostled and shoved, but he didn't care.

There was an upside to everything. That was his mantra.

More people meant an easier way to blend in where it counted most. The real world. He had failed already elsewhere, but the real world, the streets where there were more than just students, he was just another faceless person. It was far easier to do when the volume was nearly ten times the norm.

Matthew dipped and weaved, crunching through snow that was solidifying with the chilled air, his coat whipped around his legs and smacked against his thighs.

A jostle from a small group admiring a display. A person at the very back of the group stumbled back for but a second, and elbowed Matthew in the side, sending him, and his bag, sideways and onto the snow.

Slightly distracted, Matthew fumbled to pick up his bag and began to shove himself upward; mumbling a quiet 'sorry' to nobody in particular. He was just another passerby, nobody would really care.

He was stunned however, when a hand took a firm grip of his shoulder and hoisted him up proper. It withdrew, and with its partner, began to dust Matthew off, brushing show off his shoulders and back.

"Alright, lad?"

Matthew's eyes flickered to the person in surprise. The accent was instantaneously recognised. English. A quaint sort of formal-sounding English. One that he saw on the television when he had the chance. The exact sort of accent a woman could _drown_ in.

Thank god he wasn't a woman.

"Yeah... Sorry. I'm very sorry," he apologised; honestly sorry that he might've caused someone trouble.

The Englishman surprisingly _replied_ and said, "Don't bloody well be sorry." His voice was clipped, and sent a very vicious elbow to the person standing directly to the right of him. "It was _this_ frog that caused the issue in the first place; standing there and gawking like a bloody lunatic in the middle of the sidewalk."

"Ah! But the picture, she was so charming!"

"You're a _bloody perv_!"

Matthew chanced a glance at the picture, aware subconsciously that the man seemed to be French, and turned away, blushing furiously.

No wonder there was a crowd. A woman that had _huge_... tracks of land... seemed to be displaying the latest in lingerie. Apparently she felt the need to do so by bearing her breasts in a larger-than-life store-window ad.

N-not something he wanted to see.

There was a prickling feeling at the back of his neck when he remembered that he was still in the company of other people.

"_Apologise_," the Englishman hissed to the Frenchman.

Matthew focused on his feet.

Matthew Williams may live along side thousands of others, but he was unbelievably shy. He had no trouble in seminars, meetings, lectures and lessons. He could sit for hours shoulder-to-shoulder in a class, and he remained for what seemed _forever_ in a small classroom full of with students filling out an exam or test.

But once he had another person, whose whole intent was to focus solely on _him_? He... He couldn't do it. So his face began to heat up.

An apology finally came from the Frenchman – a _flourished_ apology. "I am so sorry! I apologise for being in your way, non? I did not mean to... shove you," he gestured, "onto the ground."

Matthew beat himself over the head mentally, willing himself to just open his mouth and talk. Was it really so hard? He managed to speak before, but now that he knew that this encounter was longer than a few seconds, all his words had died in his throat.

Thankfully, the Englishman spoke again, shooting his companion the dirtiest of glares. "Really, you also ought to be apologising for being a bloody pervert."

"I... It's okay," Matthew finally managed out as an uncomfortable stammer.

He wanted this encounter to be over with.

"I..." He started to say, trying to remain polite, "I... I have to go. Thank you. Have a nice day."

He dipped his head and he swerved around them, stepping off and praying that they wouldn't say anything further to him.

They didn't.

He let loose a shaky breath. He didn't understand why he had such issues with talking directly face-to-face with complete strangers. Talking with people he knew was hard enough, but strangers made his heart jump in his throat and his brain feel numb. Maybe it had something to do with his life being in parallel but-not-quite-on-par with the rest of the world.

Brief encounters were all that he could deal with.

He breathed, smoothing out his anxious feeling, and focused on the positive. Well, he may have not been able to talk to them really _normally_, but he did appreciate the encounter. An Englishman and a Frenchman, both travelling together in his bustling city? It was amusing at best. They _had_ been rather nice, and it was a pleasant change from the indifference that the huge cities usually brought. It was unusual. He _liked_ unusual.

Unusual reminded him of himself.

Though, despite all that. He did _not_ want a repeat event, and would rather keep on with his shoulder-brush encounters and nothing more.

So he kept on walking. He knew he had long-since missed the bus, he remembered it streaking past when he was being hoisted up by the Englishman. So he had to walk back now, a good hour or more of walking if the weather prevailed.

The sidewalks were bathed in orange light, illuminating the white and muddied snow in its warm glow. The signs of the packed-together shops added an extra sort of eerie flickering pale light with the warmth, only being cut off in gaps by people window-shopping or the few that were loitering around.

Matthew carefully weaved himself around the people.

For getting closer to eleven at night, he was astounded at how busy the city still was. He glanced about him at the milling people. People laughing and talking, some even holding drinks still in their hands, dipping and swerving with the night's extra-drink in their bellies.

Matthew didn't mind them. He only minded when they made him late for his buses. When he was late, it meant he had to walk home.

He let loose a breath. No. Positive thoughts. Everything has an upside. _Everything_.

He wasn't bitter about it. No. He didn't feel sorry for himself, and he really didn't _mind_ it. He didn't really care. It was frustrating, sure, and maybe other people would have been feeling loads of self-pity in his situation, but he kept to his mantra: There is an upside to everything.

One, there were tons of people milling about. This meant he wasn't alone, and wasn't about to be snatched up by some person with less-than-savoury moral values. Two, there were lots of twenty-four-hour cafes and shops. He could always stop by one and dig out change to get something warm to drink, or sit down in the warmth before heading off again.

He smiled to himself pleasantly at this reasoning. The mishap could be turned to fortune. Easy. Right. No real reason to feel sorry for himself. It was absolutely fine.

He walked on like that for some time, his mind zoned out and off somewhere in la-la land after his sound reasoning. He walked purposefully, working on instinct to dip and weave through the crowd with delicate turns and twists. He ghosted past them like he wasn't there, and continued to stride determined steps.

He was looking forward to going back home - to getting into his bed and falling asleep; which was that one last thing he had to do before he had to pry himself out of the bed and go back to the University.

_WHUMPH_

Matthew's mind derailed as he crashed. Something hard had bumped into him, or he bumped into _it_ - he wasn't quite sure which. His boot attempted to take grip on the icy sidewalk, but it failed miserably when friction felt like it was high-time for a divorce.

His momentum, coupled with absence of friction, caused him to nearly back-flip onto his back into a deep puddle of brown icy slush that had just been forming a new crust of ice.

In the middle of the road.

He was shocked. Lying on his back and in the puddle, he barely registered that he was on the ground in the first place. His head whipped to the side out of instinct when two bright lights were hurdling toward him from the distance.

An ear-piercing _honk_ scratched his ears.

He was numb for thoughts and actions. Was this how a deer felt before they were hit by a car? Entranced by two hypnotising lights barrelling towards them? Were the last moments of their lives of them being frozen on the spot, all the while wondering desperately why they weren't _moving_ in any sort of attempt to preserve their own lives?

Matthew very strongly wondered why he wasn't moving himself.

Something grabbed his shoulders painfully and he was _yanked_ from the puddle and road as the car came crashing through. Honking angrily, the car whizzed through the puddle where he had just lay and it sent a wave of sludgy snow splattering up and down Matthew's back.

"_Why were you just staring at the car!_" a very loud, enraged voice followed. "You could have been _killed_! Oh what an outing tonight would have been! I'd have watched some idiot boy get _murdered_ by a car! Bloody _hell_."

Matthew didn't even know his eyes were closed, and when he opened them, he saw nothing but an eyeful of furious green staring straight back.

He gave a start, a slight yelp, and brushed off the hands that were digging into his shoulder. "S... S... Sorry sir!" He stammered. "I'm really... I'm sorry. I wasn't paying a-a-a-attention an... and... I have no excuse... I was stunned." The words fell off his tongue in rapid succession.

"_Petite_! You are scaring 'im!" Another person came into view. "And 'e doesn't need to - ... Oh!"

"... Oh?" The green-eyed man turned to his companion.

"It is the boy from before!"

The man turned back. "Wha-... Oh!"

Still trying to get over the shock that he nearly had been _run over by a car_ Matthew's eyes flickered between the two men. They were the two men from before.

"O...Oh..."

"My _goodness_. You should be more careful!"

"S...s... sorry!" Matthew let out and he readjusted his - thankfully dry - bag. "I... I have to go n-now. T-thanks!"

He was starting to turn, to vacate their presence, but a hand gripped his shoulder and he was turned right back.

"Not yet! Did you see what happened? A load of idiotic people were walking through, like they bloody owned the place, and they knocked you straight into that puddle. You went down _spectacularly_." The man gestured. "You aren't going to just _leave_. You could be hurt."

Matthew's mouth opened and closed several times. He opted for closed and he just nodded strangely.

The focus of the Englishman's startlingly green eyes on his own was what caused his body to quake slightly. The quiver of his fingers and the hitched breath didn't have much to do with the near-encounter with the car. Nothing at all.

"You're _shaking_. Bloody..."

He felt a hand on his back. "Euch! Just as I thought, 'e is soaked to the bone!"

Was he?

All the sudden he was frightfully aware of the cold and prickly chill lancing up his back and the back of his legs, of the bitter cold that nipped at his nose, fingertips and ears, and of the uncomfortable beads of icy water that rolled down from his hairline. His jaw clattered lightly.

"Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?" The Englishman was still focusing on him, eyes scrutinising, but he was _thankfully_ not patting him down or trying to get a closer look at him.

Matthew brushed away both hands and nervously smiled, taking a step back. "F-... fine. Absolutely fine. My head is great." He touched it, as if the gesture would prove his point.

The two men looked at each other, and then back toward him. Matthew wasn't entirely aware of it - as he was too focused on getting out of their presence - but he looked like hell.

His coat hung strangely on him now that it was soaking wet, it dripped in odd places, and it looked massive on his very slender frame. His hair was damp and tangled, his one strange unruly curl sticking to the side of his head. His lower jaw was quaking with a shiver, and he stood, knees locked, his entire body just quivering against the cold.

The Englishman seemed to say something with just his eyes and the Frenchman nodded in silent agreement.

To Matthew's complete horror, instead of walking away, his wrist was taken by the shorter of the two men and he was being _led away_. He stumbled after them.

Before he knew it, and before he really could argue, he was pulled inside a shop. He heard a bell jingle, warmth blast over him, and the smells of rich freshly-brewed coffee, tea and hot chocolate invaded his nostrils. The hand remained firm on his wrist.

"Excuse me, miss?" The Englishman inquired. "Do you have towels? I'm afraid this poor boy has gotten positively _soaked_. We require some towels for this lad."

Matthew didn't see her response as he was being ushered to a chair, his coat being pried off of him.

He really had no time to say anything, or his brain didn't have enough time to tell him to say anything before he had a towel thrown over his head and he was being assaulted by it viciously.

"A-ah!"

"Calm down. I'm just drying your hair."

He silenced himself, gripping the edge of the table with his hands, biting his lip.

A clink of a mug against the wood of the table, and radiating heat as tea was pushed towards his hands. The attack against his head ceased and the Englishman picked up his own mug and sat down.

Matthew was thoroughly stunned and confused. He blinked, bewildered at the two men that were now sitting across him, each with their own steaming mug.

The Englishman sipped his tea thoughtfully, looking at Matthew over the rim.

Matthew squeaked quietly and looked into his own mug.

"Oh how _terribly rude_ of me," the man suddenly said and straightened.

Chancing a glance, Matthew saw that there was a hand outstretched to him over the table; Matthew swallowed, his own hand remaining firm where it was, fingers clasped around the table's edge. Slowly, he pried it off and let it grasp the man's larger and much warmer one.

Matthew felt tingles run down his spine. He didn't normally _touch_ people. The last time he had any sort of_ face-to-face _contact with someone directly was when he was quickly discussing the results of one of his quizzes. But touching...? No. There had been no touching.

He could feel his heart rate skyrocket and the pounding of blood rush through his wrists.

The Englishman shook his hand politely. "My name is Arthur." He let go of his hand and then gestured sharply to the blond Frenchman to his left. "This bloody git is Francis."

A warm smile, " 'allo."

"M-m..." He withdrew his quivering hand. "Ma... Matthew."

The two men exchanged looks again, but they didn't seem to say anything beyond just the glance. Arthur, so he was supposedly called, glanced at his own hand in a contemplative moment, his eyes flickering to Matthew's before it settled back on his own tea.

Matthew put his hands in his lap and bit his lip. The situation was just _too strange_. All together he was experiencing more human contact than he had ever received in _months_ and now it was just escalating from there. His mind was rather numb, and he worked off of basic reactions to just _function_.

"T... thanks." Matthew focused on the teacup and the swirling steam. "Sorry to cause you trouble." It was easier to speak to its depths then directly to either of the men's faces.

"No, I'm terribly sorry," Arthur said carefully. "I'd hate to admit it - my son always tells me I speak my mind too often - but you look extremely uncomfortable."

Well. Yes. He was.

"I apologise. I was concerned, that's all," his tone was different than before. It wasn't a harsh biting tone, but rather soft and careful. "You took quite a tumble, and you got positively _drenched_. I moved without thinking, really."

"As you do often mon petit."

"Can it, Toad."

Matthew's mouth quirked in a bare smile and he glanced up at Arthur. "I... I... It's okay. It's late. I'm not exactly used to... Being dragged... Into shops..." his voice was turning fairly quiet. "... by strangers..."

"You bloody well _shouldn't_. You have the ruddy sense to be a bit concerned," Arthur said haughtily and he sipped his own tea again. "My son however - the daft boy - would openly be dragged to anyplace. He's such an extrovert. I worry it's going to get him killed."

Matthew swallowed, trying to focus on a conversation. He wasn't so good with those. He was used to being avoided or having people tell him things off-handedly so they didn't _have_ to talk to him.

He realised that he was being extremely rude, not responding to what the man was saying, and focusing elsewhere half the time. He wasn't being a very good conversationalist.

"Son?" He tested weakly.

"Oh! Yes. Son. Might be a reason why I dragged you in here. Might be my parental instincts going haywire," came the cheerful response to the question that the Englishman had no hesitation to answer. "That's because that would be _exactly_ something Alfred would do."

"Wh-what would?"

"Why, falling bloody backwards into the street when there was an oncoming car. Heavens above, the fact that boy is alive to see his twentieth birthday is astounding. The fact he's lived long enough to be able to get into Hetalia Metro is a miracle in itself." A sigh. "There isn't a day that goes by where I am not astounded by his luck and longevity."

"Petit, you are being 'arsh."

"I'm _not_. Why... Just last week he -"

Matthew paused, not paying attention to the father's ramblings. Hetalia Metro? His hands gripped around the mug. "Yo-your son... is going to H-hetalia Metro... University...?" He asked, accidentally interrupting.

"Oh! Yes." Arthur was put back on track easily. "You know of the place? Planning to go there when you're out of high school?" Arthur asked politely, his head tilting down, trying to catch eye-contact with the extremely shy boy once more. Matthew had taken to observing his tea with utmost intensity again.

"... I ... I _go_ there."

The Englishman looked taken aback, as did the Frenchman. "Surely _not_. You're, how old? Fourteen...? Fifteen?"

Matthew corrected quickly and quietly, eyes still on his drink, "Nineteen."

"Oh! I apologise. You look very young for your age," Arthur quickly said, voice still uncertain. "You must get that a lot..."

"... Sometimes..." Matthew's thin finger traced the rim of his mug. He felt it being watched and he withdrew his hand and put it back in his lap. "It's fine. It's a compliment... right...?"

"I suppose."

Matthew couldn't see the slightly pinched eyebrows and the sideways glance at the Frenchman again.

"So," Francis said, leaning. "You are going to that University? Tell us, 'ow is it there? Mon petit fleur rouge," he gestured to Arthur, "nearly 'as been losing 'is 'ead trying to find someone 'oo knows of what school life is like there."

Slightly, bit by bit, Matthew was beginning to relax; though only by a small fraction. The men weren't overtly dangerous, but his anxiousness held firm. He let loose a few light breaths with the hope that they couldn't hear, and glanced upwards to see kind, rich blue eyes looking at his own. He let his eyes wander the room nervously, roving between their faces with bare glances, but at least he wasn't staring at his own cup.

He was going to _try_ to make an effort to appear somewhat normal in front of these men. They seemed honestly nice.

"It... The school..." He forced himself to look at the Frenchman. "Is... It's very nice." His eyes flickered to the British man.

"How is it there? Are there _ruffians_?"

Matthew decided to tell the man what he wanted to hear, and what was _mostly_ true for the school, except in some special cases. "It's very nice... there... It's not _just_ a University, but they... they provide Collage-level courses too. S-so... it's both. And they have dorms. Most students stay in those..."

"I'm aware of the dorms, my son got offered a room."

Offered...?

"Oui. Ah! I 'ave a question. Tell us. Why is 'e being asked to be a _country_? Non? It is strange. It baffles me."

"Yes!" Arthur's eyes brightened. "Yes! Tell us. I have no bloody clue what they're getting on about. And my son won't sit still for a minute to tell me why he's being asked to be the "United States of America". It's baffling, really."

Matthew's eyes widened by a few degrees, but let them fall again to his mug. "So... T... they finally found a replacement, eh?"

"A… pardon?"

The pit of his stomach twisted, and Matthew suddenly wondered if sitting there and talking with them was such a good idea after all. _Not_ that he had thought it was a great idea in the first place, but with that new knowledge, his legs began to bounce with the anticipation of getting up and just _leaving_. It'd be for the better.

Matthew was quite unaware of the silence he was stretching out until Arthur repeated himself, "Pardon, but a what? A replacement?"

"Oh... Sorry." He lost the battle with the want to dash out the door and his finger went back to retracing the track along the mug's rim. He explained, "H-… Hetalia Metro… has a strange sort of… system. S… since it's pretty prestigious – th-the university part, at… at least - they have a w-way to separate those… who… um… are above and beyond, eh…?"

"Oh?"

Matthew gave a quick nod. "T-they… Um… Tend to be above other st-students… and… um… Help other students-"

It was the Frenchman, Francis, that had picked up the description. Apparently he _had_ heard a bit about the school, and for that, Matthew was thankful. He didn't know if he could go on. So the Frenchman gave a delighted sound and spoke, "Oh! I see! I remember 'earing about this; something about that they are chosen because they 'ave some special skill or something better than the others! I 'eard that they 'ad this system in place to 'elp the other students. Things like leadership, tutoring, grades and athletic skills, non? Surely more. I 'eard it was much more complicated than that, but it is 'ighly regarded!"

Clearly surprised that his comrade knew so much, Arthur took to looking at his companion over Matthew "... Is... is that so… And… Alfred was picked…"

If Matthew was looking up, he would've witnessed a very _proud_ expression on the man's face.

Matthew decided to continue. "Yeah... They have the facilities to house o-only so many, s... so... I don't know _why_, but they designate the students as a 'country'… Maybe it is to promote cultural diversity? S-something? But it's neat... We've been out of an America fo-for two years."

"Have you now? Any reason why?"

"Nobody… fit the requirements."

_Among other things_, Matthew added to himself, hand clenching the handle of the mug.

"Oh. I see; so not _any_ high-achieving student can become "America", but someone who fits the requirements."

Matthew just nodded. "N-now we're just one country short."

"And that would be...?"

"Canada."

Arthur's eyebrows pinched in confusion. "Really? Is there a reason for that, nobody fits the requirements?"

"O-oh... Sort of... The person that they wanted to be Canada... T-turned out to be a very _wrong_ sort of person; the kind that people don't w-want to tarnish the school name. So far... people've been refusing the position ever since. Don't want to be associated."

Francis' eyebrows raised. "Oh? What sort of _wrong_...?"

"Just... Wrong... Don't worry. Even though they still are _at_ the school," Matthew tried to assure, "but they keep to themselves, I hear. So, just m-make sure your son doesn't associate with them, a-and he'll do excellent. I'm _glad_ we have a new America."

Arthur grunted, crossing his arms with a slight air of disapproval. "I'm not comfortable knowing if there is a ruffian at the school."

Matthew gave a slight laugh. "Oh. Don't worry about them. I don't even think they _wanted_ to be a representative. I h-hope someone gets the position soon, eh? But really, y-you don't have to worry. I… I shouldn't have mentioned it…"

Matthew finally took a sip of his tea shakily, wishing he had either said nothing, or had left ages ago when he first had wanted to.

Arthur laughed. "Well it's about _time_."

Matthew blinked.

"I was assuming you thought I drugged it."

"... S-sorry..."

"No no, don't be, lad," the tone turned soft again. "I appreciate the information," he added.

"N... no problem. A-and _really_," he pressed. "I didn't mean to m-mention the other kid. I promise th-that there's no trouble with him now. The teachers keep him under wraps and studying and doing h-his work. He's been there for a y-year now and no trouble s-since... so..."

A barked laugh. "It's _quite_ alright. I daresay; if I kept my son from schools that only had histories of one or two bad students, then I'd be out of finding a proper school for my _son_. Bloody hell, you should've_ seen_ the last school he went to..."

"Oui. It was terrible."

"Tell me about it."

Matthew focused back down on his tea as the two adults started to talk about the school that was full of 'bad influences' and 'ruffians'. He vaguely paid attention to the father of the new 'America' go on about how he was glad that Alfred stayed out of that sort of trouble, and that he was glad the boy had the decent sense of being able to tell the people who were the 'wrong sort' from the people who weren't.

As this went on, Matthew came to an interesting revelation -while mentally repeating his mantra of: There is an upside to everything - the fact that... This was sort of... _normal…_ wasn't it?

Well, not completely normal. The situation that caused it to happen made it far from _completely_ normal. But this was... normal. Sitting at a cafe with company and drinking tea and having good conversation.

He even was starting to feel somewhat comfortable; which, admittedly, was a new and very interesting feeling. It was very hard for him to find people whose presence were the least bit comfortable.

And there were two of them sitting right there.

The British man, despite a stand-offish attitude, was very kind. There was a quality to his voice that Matthew had yet to have a name for. He never encountered a tone like it. And the other man, while he hadn't said a lot, he could only describe as being very... _open_. Also something foreign to see be directed towards himself.

It was... it was...

_Nice_, Matthew thought.

A slight smile played on his lips.

Despite how_ wrong_ it was - Matthew found himself feeling happy with the situation. He was happy with a warm cup of tea, with good company.

The conversation died and Matthew wasn't very aware of it doing so. Only when the silence fell for a few moments did he realise they had stopped talking; so he looked up.

They were looking at him. A ripple went up his spine again, making his hair stand on end.

Okay. Maybe he wasn't _completely_ comfortable.

"Oh! Sorry, we didn't mean to make you nervous. But you were muttering something," Arthur said. "I thought you had asked me something."

"Muttering...?"

"Oui."

Was he? Had he? He was sure that he had been thinking all that in his _head_ and not out loud. Was he talking to himself?

"O-oh... You misheard. I..." He glanced around quickly, found the clock on the wall, and pointed. "I have... to go. Sorry."

Eyebrows furrowed in response. "Are you quite sure? All of the sudden? Do you have some place to be? You still look so _wet_; we could take you home -"

"It's fine," Matthew pressed, standing, his chair scraping back. "Thank you very much for... f... for... Saving me... g-... giving me tea..."

That much was honest. He really was grateful for them and the tea.

"That's not a _problem_," Arthur dismissed, standing himself to bring himself at Matthew's level. "But it's terribly late, and cold. The temperature is rapidly dropping. Soon enough it's going to be cold enough to freeze a bucket of boiling water out there."

"Mon fleur, you exaggerate."

Matthew smiled. "I... I'll be okay." He rummaged through his pocket and plopped a very old and wrinkled five-dollar bill on the table. "Thank you."

"... Now hold on just a _moment_."

Matthew was already working on his coat and he slung his bag over his shoulder. His coat was definitely still sopping, but he didn't care. It was easy enough to get home and changed, and it wasn't like the water was going to dry up any time soon. All would be well. Besides, it was high time that he left anyway. He had already overstayed his welcome; especially after the news of this man being the father of the new 'America'. It had been high-time to leave some number of minutes ago, if that was the case.

"I'm sorry. I'm running... late."

The Englishman picked up the bill and gestured for Matthew to take it back.

Matthew didn't take it. He appeared to act as if it no longer exsisted. He muscled up all his courage and said with absolute honesty, "It was refreshing to meet you. I know your son will love Hetalia Metro. Thank you."

He turned then, and left; leaving two befuddled men in his wake. One sitting in his seat still, teacup perched in his hand, and the other standing, confused, holding a limp five-dollar bill.

Arthur turned his attention to Francis, who just shrugged. He persue him because the boy's body language was clear in telling that he didn't want to be followed, but that didn't mean he hadn't _wanted_ to… He looked at the bill in his hand with furrowed eyebrows. The boy giving him money sort of defeated the purpose of being _treated_ to something, didn't it?

"He is... a _very_ unusual boy," Arthur finally said.

"Mn... Oui."

He folded the bill and pocketed it. "Something's _off_ about him."

"Oui."

Of course, it was obvious. The stutter, absentness and shaking were as obvious as the perversion on the Frenchman's face.

Arthur looked at the black scenery out the window, and didn't see a wisp or glimmer of the late-teen.

"Well... at least he was charming," he amended.

A chuckle. "Oui."

. . .

It was a short time later that Arthur pushed open the door to his recently-moved-into home and hanged up his coat on the freshly-installed coat hooks. He was tired. The day had been long. Being dragged about by Francis all day really could wear a person out. As well as, he had _finally_ concluded his search to find another student at Hetalia Metro.

He _finally_ got answers to his questions.

Francis peeked his head in the doorway before he let his body follow with liquid grace. "Oh... I am so tired," he began to shove off his coat. "I am going to sleep."

Arthur sent him a dirty glare. "You better find another place to stay. _Soon_. You're not welcome to freeload here you frog."

Francis sent a lecherous purr and smirked at the Englishman. "Oh but I've bought most of the groceries, l'Angleterre."

"Le An... what?"

"L'Angleterre. I think it suits you, non? You are the father of a new 'L'Amerique'. I think it is only suiting that you are... _England_. Non? You are so Briteesh."

A roll of his eyes came before that was dignified with a response, "God. Whatever. As long as you don't turn it into some sexual fantasy of yours and keep your ruddy hands -" he slapped the one that was wandering towards him, "- to your bloody _self_, then do whatever the hell you want."

"Oui oui mon petit. Mon Angleterre."

With that exchange gone, the bane of Arthur's existence wandered upstairs to his bedroom. To this day he had _no_ idea why he had the 'pleasure' of calling that man his 'best friend'. He believed very much that the day he became best friends with the man was the same day that he found himself drunk in a ditch. It was a really _stupid idea_.

Arthur opted to go to the kitchen and fetch a glass of water before heading off to bed himself. His mind was still buzzing with all the day's events. Reaching in his pocket for a kerchief, his hand landed on the crumpled and dirtied five dollar bill.

"What was his name again...?" He muttered to himself, turning the bill over as if that'd give him answers.

"... _BOO_!"

"_Oh bloody HEAVENS ABOVE_!"

Alfred was nearly _crying_ from laughing so hard. Arthur was doing everything he could to keep his heart in his chest and his footing on the floor while one hand was tightly clamped on the edge of the island countertop.

In sudden rage, Arthur grabbed the newspaper that was innocently sitting on the counter and walloped Alfred on the head with it. "You… you… _wanker_! You little bloody _snot_!"

His best friend was the bane of his life, and his _son_ ought to be hoist by his underpants on the nearest clothing line!

Alfred just laughed.

"You nearly _killed me_."

"Hahaha," Of course. No sympathy. How _ever_ could Arthur_ ever_ assume he'd get _sympathy_? "You're home uber-late," his son astutely observed. "And ooh, money." He was looking at the bill in Arthur's other hand, completely unfazed by the pages of newsprint that were continuously brought down on his head.

"Yes. I am." He breathed, putting down the newspaper. "And this isn't for taking," he folded the bill and put it in his pocket. "Someone mistakenly gave it to me, I intend to _return_ it."

"Aww."

"Anyway! I finally found out some information on that bloody school of yours; since you were too busy acting like a child to tell me anything."

"It was amusing!"

"I wish I didn't have to do covert missions to get information on a school my son is attending."

"As I said," Alfred relied, dismissively, "Amusing. Where did you get the info from?"

"A student, actually."

"Oh really? I thought most of them were in-res, or studying like hell. It's almost exam-time, isn't it?"

"Well, I caught this one on his commute; it was a rather _interesting_ meeting, actually. He gave the school a glowing review. He also explained the business with the countries."

Alfred nodded and he picked up an apple and took a healthy watery bite from it. He grinned when his father gave him a disapproving stare. Snacks so close to bedtime were usually frowned upon.

"Oh! Great! Yeah, I'm still kinda in the dark about it, but I think it makes me a leader or something. S'awesome!"

"Please. Chew. Swallow. _Then_ speak. For heaven's sake. I didn't raise you in a _barn_."

A cheeky grin was his only response, and he grunted more disapproval.

"Ah, he also said something puzzling. I'm probably going to ask to be sure it's been properly cleared up. I'm not sure I'm too comfortable with that just being left hung in the air like that…"

"Wazzat?"

"Oh. He spoke about how they had trouble filling your spot and filling the spot of another country. The name eludes me, but he said it had to do with a bad reputation, I wanted to be sure that it's been properly _taken care of_ before I feel completely comfortable about you going there."

"Oh!" Alfred brightened. "Yeah! I heard about it. I got an e-mail from one of the representatives after I accepted the offer. It was long and boring, so... I just kinda skimmed it. It was just something about how the 'America' position hadn't been, I dunno, 'tarnished' by the guy that had ruined 'Canada'. They insisted , or something, to reassure me it had to do with nobody fitting the bill. Not because of some tweaked-out druggie."

"... Tweaked out _what_?"

"I dunno. Apparently the old 'Canada' was a suspected _drug addict_. Whatever. At the very least, he had been the centre of a lot of trouble. I don't really care though. It's not like its gunna effect me!"

... A drug addict? He prayed Alfred wouldn't get involved with that sort of person. He also prayed that it was a rumour, and not an actuality. He was going to have some _complaining_ to do if those accusations were true.

"… Well good."

"Haha! Anyway! I'm more excited! I got this wicked-cool _pin_ that is all shiny and stuff! It has the flag on it, and little wings, and I get to wear it! And I think I've already polished it half-a-billion times already! It's going to be the shiniest one at the entire school! So I don't care at all about the other stuff because I get to be the _United States of America._"

Negative thoughts of his son being offered drugs in an alleyway were effectively shoved from his mind, "Alright. Bed. Off to bed with you."

"Aww, but _Dad_."

"Now. _March_," he tapped the newspaper against the countertop threateningly.

Alfred tossed the core of the apple in the garbage disposal and began to march off, "- April, May, June."

Arthur sighed, then turned to finally pour that damned glass of water.

At least he knew, once the next term started, his life would be a little bit _easier_ from then on out. Alfred would be at school, Francis would hopefully have found _another place to live_, and he, himself, could have some peace and bloody quiet.

He barked a laugh.

Oh god. Who was he _kidding_?

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**Author's Notes** : I swear to god I am not insane. This story was wrought from writer's block about a month ago. I've had the first few chapters written for a bit, and I will begin to upload them periodically. Not sure if it should be once every two weeks or once every week and a half... or once a month... But I do basically have the second chapter already DONE.

Oh. And this story isn't going to be very NORMAL.

At all.

I mean it. I really do.

... Enjoy.

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**Lesson 2 Preview : **It's safer to assume one _won't_ get it, than assume it was possible in the first place. When the opportunity gets shredded away, and one is left but with the lingering thoughts of the possibility, one could be a little happier... if one never believed it was possible. Maybe.

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**Read and REVIEW : **Reviews help all authors know what people like and also that you want to see more! So if you like it, review it! Not just my stories, but other people's too! Please! They make me have warm fuzzies.


	2. You can lose it before you gain it

**Disclaimer** : This fanfiction is set in a generalized ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. It's based off of the characters and my interpretations of them. Character names _obviously_ used.  
**Ownership** : Like a lot of people here... I really don't own Hetalia at all.

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**Lesson 2 Summary :** There is a common saying that goes, "Do not count your chickens before they hatch." But some people don't believe they deserve to gain anything. Their philosophy would be, instead...

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**Lesson 2 : You can lose it before you gain it**

Matthew walked calmly down a street directly across from the large and magnificent main building complex - and related buildings - that was Hetalia Metro University. Walking along the perimeter, Matthew remained out of its boundaries as he went over the things he needed to do before making a detour to the University bounds.

He was digging through his brown bag, shuffling past crumpled bits of paper and pencil shavings that were _long_ overdue to be cleaned out. His fingers brushed the spines of several heavy textbooks and he withdrew his hand.

Exams were over. The day before, actually, was when Matthew took his last exam; thus expelling any further need of his to remain on the school boundaries any longer than necessary.

All he had to do, that day, was return the textbooks that had been gratefully lent to him.

Other than that, he was done. _Done_. He was finished all his studies, write-ups, papers, essays and most importantly, _exams_ for that semester. He now had a few weeks of post-schooling bliss before the next semester started.

He felt oddly... content. Well, perhaps it wasn't so strange, as Matthew very much wanted to spend as little time as possible on the school grounds during the daytime. Which really was an odd thing, for most students couldn't get _enough_ of the school, a lot of them preferring to stay within dorms, or coming from across country just to _be_ there.

But not Matthew. No. Matthew avoided the school if at all possible, and he did it very well.

But then again, Matthew was a very strange person. So, for him, it wasn't all that unusual.

With a final click of his tongue, and a wary look at the fields for the density of remaining students, Matthew swiftly crossed the street when the lights chirped, and entered the grounds.

Hetalia Metro was huge, ornate, but somehow fit in the bustling and huge city. To Matthew, it reminded him of parliamentary buildings with its complexity, or something that deserved to be in a fantasy book, not as so much real life.

He swept past the main building - also the largest - and towards a smaller building that sat close to it.

What also made Matthew very different was the wide arc he tended to walk whenever he walked past this _particular_ building. It was like a force-field propelled him away from it, shooing him off before he even came close. If at all possible, he would avoid even having any sort of _view_ of it, preferring to take longer routes if that meant he didn't have to see the many, many, flag banners fluttering against its impressive walls.

Representative Hall, one of the most _popular _buildings at Hetalia Metro; for it was the building that housed the people that partly made the university so famous in the first place, the country representatives; people who were carefully selected for their post for the betterment of the student body and the school.

It was also large, but not immensely so. In reality, the 'building' was actually _two_ buildings. They had been built so close to one another, and they were so directly interconnected with one another, that everyone referred to it as one entity. The second building was off-limits to the student-body, as it was for representatives only. They too needed somewhere to sleep.

Matthew sighed as he walked towards it, trying to ignore the _looks_ that he felt grating up and down his back by the onlookers.

His hands tightened around his bag strap and he, with a slightly quaking hand, pushed the door open.

A rush of warm air hit him and he stepped in.

Banners hung from the beautiful, but simple, hallway, each representing a country that currently had a representative attending - or soon to attend - the school.

Swallowing, Matthew glanced down either side of the hallway.

It was quiet - a bit unusual for the hall, but perhaps not considering the timing of his visit; which was completely intentional on his part.

There was just one other person in the hall, unrecognisable at that distance, who was looking up at the American flag that was now hung proudly in its rightful place.

Matthew didn't let his eyes trail to the flags and he moved to turn around.

"Hey!" A voice echoed through the hallway and Matthew felt his stomach _drop_.

Oh no.

Matthew contemplated in turning around, apologising, and making himself scarce. He could always... return the books later. He could always just... mail them in? Really, now that he thought about it, there was no need for him to have to give them back _in person_ was there? Really?

His internal ramblings must have stopped him because the voice called out again. However, the sound was much closer than before. Apparently in the brief pause, the person chose to close the space between Matthew and themselves.

Automatically, and without thinking beyond leaving, Matthew turned back to the door and started towards it.

"Hey! Don't ignore me!"

Matthew had to stop. He turned his face and his eyes landed on a person that he suddenly realised he didn't recognise. He figured it had been a representative not a...

Eyes flicked to the golden pin, adorned with golden wings, and gifted with the flag of the United States of America.

... Oh.

The apology for intruding that was on his lips died away as he took in this new person. This new person was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and had an immensely brilliant white-toothed smile. And upon seeing that Matthew was no longer 'ignoring' him, the smile got even more delighted.

Matthew busied himself with looking at his bag, fiddling with a strap. "D... do you need something...?"

"Haha! Yeah! How could you guess?" The man that Matthew mentally dubbed as 'America' laughed heartily. "I really actually _do_ need help. See, I'm new here, I didn't know if you knew that or not-"

Oh. He knew.

"- Well, I'm not new _yet_," he rambled on, "I'm, like, pre-new. Almost new. Since I'm starting when the next semester starts, yeah? So I'm not, like... _new_-new... Kinda..." Eyebrows drew inward for a moment before he apparently got back-on-track. "I came here 'cause I wanted to know the layout."

"O... Oh."

"Well. Dad kinda-sorta forced me to come and check it out n'all... Anyway! This building is _really_ confusing. And big. And sorta annoying. It makes me look really un-heroic because I can't seem to find my way around. Which is not cool. I'm trying to find a..." he held up a sheet of paper, reading off of it, "Ludwig... Beil... biel...um... ... Germany."

Matthew was nearly blown over with the slew of words that just assaulted his ears. He _wasn't_ used to talking to normal-paced people, so the rapid gun-fire speak was _way_ out of his league. It surprised him so much, that he found himself looking at the person's face, blinking in bewilderment.

What did he just say? Something about Germany?

"... Um... can you... repeat that...?"

"... I'm lost. Can ya help me?" A grin that seemed to be one reserved for charming people; it probably worked too. "Find Germany, I mean."

He deliberated, but decided that the encounter would be harmless. No doubt Germany would show America around the entire complex if simply asked; also, it just so happened that where Germany tended to be was also very close to where _he_ had to return his books.

"U-um... I just happen to be h-heading that way..."

Another winning smile. "Great! I'll just follow you there!"

Matthew stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say or just start walking, but a gesture with a hand from the impatient man told him the answer to his query and he started back on his walk through the building.

"So..." America looked around casually and jammed his hands in his pockets. "Why do representatives get their own special building?"

Matthew didn't exactly expect to be asked another question. It wasn't exactly _usual_ for any student of the school to be asking him _any_ sort of question. He swallowed. Should he answer him? Would it be a bad idea to speak to him directly? Maybe he should leave him with Germany to answer that question. He _would_ be much better at explaining everything than _he_ would. That's for sure!

Chewing his lip, he didn't respond.

"... Dude, are you like, hard of hearing?"

Matthew spoke quietly, "No... Sorry. Um... Thinking."

"Hahaha. Right. Exams, right? Wait. No..." America leaned slightly but thankfully straightened before he got too close. "Aren't you a little too young for exams? Ah... oh well!" Honestly, the man didn't sound too sympathetic about the assumed 'plight' of Matthew. "Anyway. So. Representative Hall. What does it mean? Why do they get a whole building to themselves?"

"Two."

"... Right. Two."

He sighed. There was no getting out of this. He worked at his mind, and he, looking forward at the halls in front of him, and definitely not the person beside him, tried to explain the best he could.

"The... Um... Representatives are special... right? So... They get different privileges... That reflects their abilities... Um... But they all get special rooms t-that they can use for... for... w-whatever means th... they want. As... as long as the U-university admin...istration... um... approves it."

He hoped he understood that.

America was silent for a moment, looking at Matthew with an odd expression. "You have a stutter," he said in a curious observation. He paused and brightened his tone, back to the subject at hand, "That's really awesome! So... you mean I could use one of those rooms to start, like, a Burger Club?" He asked, excitedly. "Aw man! That'd be _so cool_!"

Oh god. He was a _perfect_ America. They _really_ outdid themselves.

Matthew shrugged in lieu of a proper response.

All of the sudden, he stopped.

"Whoa! Why did ya sto- Oh!" America's eyes brightened beyond his glasses. "Oh! Is this where he is?"

Matthew nodded; gesturing down the hallway to the room where he was sure Ludwig was going to be.

"Just... in there." He thumbed behind him. "I... I have to go to a room just down there."

"Thanks a million! I owe you one!" America said brightly and he dashed down the hall, obviously exuberant and all-too excited to explore the place.

Matthew just turned away. Grateful that it was over, but feeling accomplished. It was actually kinda nice to do something like that. He felt good for leading America to where he needed to be, and Matthew, despite his immense discomfort, was glad that America asked him to help.

As he always said, there was an upside to everything. Even immense discomfort.

Matthew paused in front of the door that he was supposed to be entering and the feeling of pride and accomplishment washed away from him like someone had pulled a plug. He swallowed heavily, hands starting to shake, and rapped gently on the door.

He jerked back his hand as if he was stung, and waited, standing stalk still.

Behind the door there was shuffling, then sounded the footfalls of heavy footsteps before the door finally opened. At first, it was plain that the person behind it was confused as to why someone had _knocked_ on the door, rather than just open it. However, the moment his eyes rest upon the small, quaking, form of Matthew, the confusion was replaced with an unreadable grimace.

"Wh't 'r you doing h're?"

Just then, in horror, Matthew realised that he _forgot_ to take his books out of his bag, and in a panicked scramble, he whipped it open, pulling out his textbooks quickly. Paper spilled to the floor. Wads of crumpled notes, torn makers, pencils, pens and pencils shavings littered the ground along with the paper, making a rather unholy mess.

Not caring for the moment - he'd clean it up right after, and it wasn't_ Germany_ he was dealing with - he thrust the books in the direction of the person at the door, keeping his eyes on everything but the man's _face_.

"H... H... Here..." he squeaked.

The books were taken, the man, still staring at Matthew hard, put them under his arm. When he had been relieved of their weight, Matthew chanced a glance upward at him.

He was clearly being examined by the much taller person. The books were pushed aside in importance for the time being, and Matthew couldn't help but feel - as with every encounter with the man - like he was being watched by a guard dog. A guard dog that wasn't quite sure whether or not to maul or just ignore the intruder in question.

Berwald watched Matthew with intense scrutiny and his eyes flicked to his pale complexion and quaking fingers before saying, "P'k up your m'ss."

Matthew jumped and scrambled to pick up the mess, sweeping the pencil shavings back into his bag quickly. His hands by this point where shaking so bad that he was having trouble getting a grip on the pieces of paper.

But he did manage it, and was watched the entire time he did his task. _Every_ move he made was carefully examined by the very tall representative. Sweden always had made sure to do so whenever Matthew was nearby. Well, he wasn't the only one, but Sweden was certainly one of the most intimidating.

Matthew straightened and smiled weakly. "T-there..."

Sweden's face didn't change; he only acknowledged the completed task with a brief nod of his head. Adjusting the books so one was open in front of him, he flipped through the pages quickly, fanning them so he could properly examine every one.

He did that with each book before he finally spoke again, "D'd you do anyth'ng?"

"N...no! N-nothing. They ar... are as good as... as I g-got them."

Matthew wished he could say how grateful he was that Sweden lent them to him. He wanted to say how he actually _repaired_ one of the books because a whole chunk of the pages had tried to fall out. He wanted express how much he appreciated the man's previous generosity, and that he wanted to do something in repayment, maybe offer to buy him lunch, to make him pancakes, something.

But his ability to offer and say such things died long ago, so he just quaked quietly.

"Th'y bett'r be," was the short response.

Matthew gave another weak smile, truly appreciative, and turned to leave. With how Sweden was looking at him, Matthew could only have assumed that he was expectantly waiting for him to leave. It was more than enough encouragement for him.

He had returned the books. He could go home.

But shockingly, he was _stopped _before he even made it a foot away, before he could take a step. Even more so, he was stopped by _Berwald_; with a _hand on his shoulder_.

Matthew stiffened, fists clenched.

"Buy y'r own books n'xt year," he was sternly, but not rudely, instructed. "Y' can't borrow books 'nymore."

"U... uh..."

"D'n't argue. G't c'mplaints. Buy books like ev'ryone else."

Matthew nodded rapidly. "O... Okay." He swallowed, and tried to do the impossible, "Thank you. I... really... u-um... really..." He shuffled as Berwald let go. "Appreciate it. Thank you."

"Hn. G't out of h're. An' don't come back l'ke _that_ -" he looked up and down and Matthew's pale, thin, and shuddering frame, "- ag'n. I'll ignore it t'day." His face was unreadable, and he gestured for him to finally get out of there.

"Thank you." Matthew gave him the most honest smile. He was grateful. Truly, he was. Nobody else would lend him the books, and despite the distaste that Matthew _knew_ Berwald had for him, he _still_ lent him the course books. Sure, it was a bit under-the-table for the borrowing system that Sweden had set up in part with Finland, but it _had_ been nice.

It was just that Berwald scared the _crap_ out of him, and he wished he could say more than a stuttered 'thank you'. He had trouble speaking, but not usually _that_ much.

"E-enjoy your break please!" And he meant it. But that didn't stop him from turning from the room and getting out of there as quickly as possible.

Relief flooded Matthew from his heart to the tips of his fingers and toes. He sighed as he walked down the hallway again, breathing out nothing but extreme relief.

His hands were no longer shaking so bad - instead, they just quavered slightly - and he actually smiled to himself. That really hadn't been _too_ awful. The encounter with Berwald hadn't been as negative as he expected it to be.

Maybe he just had a bad habit of over-projecting the future. Or over-thinking the large, scary, Swedish man's expressions. The man was tall and terrifying, but that didn't mean he was _mean_. Matthew knew that he _had_ to stop doing that. Over-assuming was just going to stress him out more and give him high-blood pressure. As well, it just plain contradicted his internal mantra of: There is an upside to everything.

The upside to the encounter was that Berwald didn't directly tell him to get out of the school, or gave him any sort of dark thinly-veiled threat to make himself scarce. The man - if he could guess at all correctly - almost seemed... _tolerant_. A pleasant difference from his initial assumption.

He sighed and leaned against the wall for a moment, closing his eyes.

He was done. He could go home. He could enjoy the holiday break and he could rela-

_Wumph_! Something landed on his shoulder. Matthew let out a rather loud, high-pitched, unhealthy shriek. He flailed his arms, batting away whatever it was on his shoulder, and in doing so, nearly fell forward and flattened his face on the floor. He caught himself before he could have done so.

Breathing heavily, hands quaking again, he turned to the assailant, one hand gripped around the front of his own coat as if to quell a heart attack.

It was America. Who, by the pained look on his face, seemed to have possibly burst an eardrum. "Holy _shit_ man! _Jumpy_ much?" America straightened, twisting his finger in his ear. "What, waiting for someone to _jump _you?"

Matthew lowered his hand, letting out a shuddering breath. "S... sorry..."

Still not amused, America said heatedly, "Dude, you know, I'd hate to say it, but if you go around like _that_, people are gunna think you're _high_. Not to mention, you _look_ like you're tweaking out right now." A pause, "And you sound like a _girl_ on crack when you scream. Really."

Matthew blinked, then gave a very weak laugh. "Hahaha... Sorry..."

He didn't say anything else after that. His heart-rate slowing, Matthew turned on his heels and started down the hall without another word.

He only made it about halfway when America came after him.

He had gone from upset to apologetic in a matter of seconds. "Hey man, sorry. I didn't mean to accuse you of that," America quickly apologised. "My dad says I tend to _act_ before I _think_," he frowned, as if not completely believing it was true. "And, I really don't think you're tweaking out or anything."

"Oh... okay." Matthew said quietly, continuing to walk. "It's okay. I don't mind."

In obvious surprise and confusion at the ease of which Matthew brushed off the previous accusation, America just... looked at him oddly. After a moment of very uncomfortable glances, America shoved it out of his mind and brightly said - for all intents and purposes acting like nothing had happened - "Hey! I know! Let's get a bite to eat!"

Matthew stopped on the spot and he stared up at America as if he grew another head.

He couldn't believe it. Really. He couldn't. He was astounded that America made the effort to apologise, or talk to him at all. Let alone offer a 'bite to eat'!

"Uh..."

America stopped too, bewildered. He had obviously assumed that the offer would have brightened the other up, not... shock him. He was starting to get the impression - if it wasn't obvious before - that he wasn't dealing with a run-of-the-mill University student.

Ah, so it was a _challenge_. He liked those.

"Oh my gosh," America started exuberantly. Once again, he was acting like any of the previous incidents hadn't happened. "I totally forgot. I never introduced myself!" He then held his hand out sharply to Matthew. "I am Alfred F. Jones - Jones is from my mother's side - the new representative of the United States of America!"

Matthew just awkwardly stared at the extended limb before apologetically smiling at Alfred and saying, "Nice to m-meet you. My name is... Um... Matthew."

"Matthew? Just Matthew?"

"U-uh... Not _really_."

Alfred barked a laugh, and withdrew is hand once it was plain that the other wasn't going shake it. "Just Matthew, huh? The representative of meekness in the world?"

Matthew just turned his gaze away and started to walk again. Not out of rudeness, but because he had no idea what to say or do after that. At least Alfred followed him without much question, or objection that he was being rude. That was a plus.

What a _strange_ situation he was in. Matthew Williams had someone _following him_ like a large boisterous dog trying to show off.

The situation only got _stranger_ when he found himself, sitting at a table with said person, in a fast-food restaurant that was on-campus. He would have _never_ expected that. At all.

It was astoundingly strange. And if Matthew didn't already know that this man before him - that was eating French fries like he'd never eat again - was the son of the Englishman from before, then he'd be immensely surprised by the coincidence of being swept into a place of food comfort by very similar binds of generosity.

It _had_ to be genetic.

It was both easier and harder to relax around Alfred than it had been with the other's father. For one, America was much closer to his own age, and that helped. But, the drawback was, he was still on university grounds, there were still students around, and he'd much rather have _gone home_ than be sitting there.

Also. The other was a representative. Which, he supposed, really did make it _much_ harder to relax.

But he was polite, and for all his discomfort, he was enjoying himself.

Alfred plopped down a tray between them, identical sets of food on each side, and began to un-pile it all generously.

"Okay. Got the biggest burgers they have! And fries, of course. Extra-large too. And some ketchup. You _need_ ketchup. And I hope the burgers here are good, else that's the first thing that the Burger Club is going to fix!" Alfred rambled, and he finished off with depositing one soda, and one cup of water.

Matthew gingerly slid the cup of water towards himself, his eyes still trailing to the table, food, or his hands rather than directly at Alfred's face.

Really, despite the fact he could feel a few of the students burning their eyes into the back of his head, he was actually enjoying himself. He may not have been so exuberant, or very _interesting_, but America seemed genuinely, flamboyantly, nice.

He also talked with his mouth full.

Alfred talked and talked at him. And all that was required from Matthew was that he listened. He was perfectly fine with that, he liked listening, and Alfred rambled so much, that there weren't many breaks were he _could_ speak. This arrangement was far more comfortable than he assumed.

He was glad he wasn't required to speak quite at the same length as him, because he didn't think he could perfectly form sentences. So he kept himself content with giving small nods and sounds whenever prompted, and ate on French fries and his hamburger.

"... Dude," America said at one point, stopping mid-way through a story of grandeur, "I swear that I have been watching you the whole time, but I must be blinking too much because I don't remember you shovelling that food at all."

At that Matthew had looked down, and was surprised to see that he had burned through all that he was given to him. He only had a few stray onion rings, a pickle, and some lonely cold fries half-battered in ketchup.

"... A... ah..."

America found that amusing. "Haha! I don't think I've met anyone else that can eat nearly as fast as me! But _politely_," he did a pinkie flip that Matthew only just caught as mocking drinking tea. "My dad would _love_ you. He's slow as hell, but he's so _proper_."

"Oh...?"

"Yep! We'd have fifteen kinds of spoons if it wasn't so expensive."

"... Oh ..."

And that conversation ended. But Matthew couldn't help but have an amused smile on his face for the remainder of their meal.

Once they finished their meal, Alfred had insisted that he pay for it; but Matthew apparently totally owed him lunch later. Before Matthew could so much as insist that he pay first, Alfred had already gotten up with the tray to deposit the evidence of the massacre of beef and potato.

Matthew busied himself with aimlessly looking through his bag and looking around while he waited.

He caught, as he causally glanced about, Germany walk in, spot Alfred, and make a bee-line toward him.

His stomach flipped unhealthily and his nails accidently dug into his palm. Oh no. Oh no.

Oh no.

He knew what was coming. He knew. But Matthew must have been masochistic to remain there in the restaurant instead of just leaving. He rooted to the spot further-still when Ludwig gave him a sideways glance when he finally reached Alfred on the other side of the restaurant.

Matthew couldn't hear the words, but he saw Germany's stance hold firm. Arms were crossed, eyebrows narrowed seriously, and he was probably speaking in a low and authoritative voice with how far down his head was tilted. No hand gestures.

America seemed cheery at first, openly greeting him with wide exuberance, until the seriousness of Germany hit him. He toned down, exuberance falling in surprise at the sudden encounter.

It took only a few seconds, but the surprise turned to shock, to horror. His mouth opened and closed, and Matthew knew it was just wordless nothings. Germany nodded gravely. It was like he just told him someone had _died_.

Matthew knew better.

Matthew also knew that he should have left _then_ as well, that it was really right _then_ when he should have left. But... he didn't. No. Matthew just stayed where he was, watching silently in some sort of sick fascination, his hands gripping tightly on the straps of his bag.

Ludwig continued to speak, gesturing slightly now with one hand before crossing them back neatly as they were before - Alfred still in shock.

After a moment, when Germany finished, America pointed in Matthew's direction, asking something.

Ludwig nodded.

Finally, Matthew decided to leave, his stomach was clenching so painfully he almost couldn't stand straight. However, before he did leave, he took out his last crumpled bill, a twenty, and he deposited it on Alfred's coat left behind in the seat. Then he turned to make his exit.

An angry growl broke out, through the whole restaurant, and effectively stopped Matthew in his tracks. "_Canada_."

Matthew froze, Alfred stormed towards him. He couldn't move; his fingers didn't want to so much as twitch as he was approached. People were staring openly now, instead of being politely indifferent.

Matthew turned to be met with anger boiling in brilliantly blue eyes.

"You. _You," _Alfred seethed, clearly unable to think of what he wanted to accuse him of first.

"Yes...?" He was surprisingly calm, it pissed America more, and Germany behind him was looking disapprovingly at Matthew.

"I can't _believe it_," Alfred said, hissing his upset. "_You're _Canada."

Matthew swallowed, laughed with no meaning and gestured. "W-_was_... I'm not... a-anymore..."

So that was that. America knew the truth. That he, Matthew Williams, was the miscreant, the terrible person that was dubbed as 'Canada' over a year ago. That he was the one that tarnished the name. That he was the one that had made it _very hard_ for people to even _want_ to be a new representative, fearing that the school had loose morals. That he was the reason that the America position had gotten even _harder_ to fill.

Matthew believed - No... knew - Matthew knew that because of him, the Canada position probably wasn't going to be filled for years. The high-standing school had a black tar-like sticky tarnish, and nobody wanted to be shown standing there. The rest was too grand, to perfect. Nobody wanted to be put in that spot, and be judged.

Matthew had been Canada for a whole of two weeks.

Then he was just Matthew.

"So..." America asked, angrily, "When I said to you before, about you tweaking out...?" He accused, "You were _actually tweaking out!_"

Matthew winced. "U-um..."

"Don't even _try_ to lie to me! I've already heard the whole story, but I had no idea it was _you_. You know what just happened? This big guy, Ludwig? He just came here specifically to _warn me_ about_ you._ So. What were you going to do? Dine and run?"

Matthew was sure that Alfred had _offered_ to pay, but he pointed shakily at the bill on Alfred's coat.

A little surprised, but not impressed, Alfred let out a dumb, "Oh."

"T... thank you."

Matthew turned away from America and moved to the door.

"Where do you think you're going!" Alfred called.

He didn't respond, pushing open the door and letting it clang shut.

He didn't have to look back to know that Germany was telling Alfred not to follow, not to press the issue, to just let him be; that he was just a very strange person. He was just someone who was not like everyone else. Who wasn't normal. Who was, when left alone, not a problem. Who shouldn't be _encouraged_.

Matthew Williams was a very strange, dangerous person; and he walked away from the eatery like nothing had happened.

Maybe his mind decided that, but his hands were quaking badly as he stepped out of the grounds and down the road. Aimlessly, mindlessly, he walked, weaving his way around snowy piles and avoiding ice so he could get to his bus stop. So he could go _home_.

He supposed he should have been more upset about it. Object. Something. But he never did, and he suspected he never would. He sort of knew from the beginning that it would have happened, that Alfred would have eventually found out. He couldn't kid himself there, he wasn't exactly _hiding_ it.

But he smiled.

He had a surprisingly good day, despite the painful tightness of his chest.

Was it wrong to be so happy about the surprisingly pleasant Sweden? Of 'Alfred F. Jones' taking his time to talk to him, to ask for his help, even though he obviously seemed strange and detached? Was it strange to say that he had an extraordinarily good day, all because for one blissful moment - despite how anxious, and nervous, and how hard his heart was pounding against his chest - he had been treated to lunch?

He smiled. He thought he had been in good luck when the two men had kindly offered him tea.

Then again, it wasn't so strange for him. He _was_ Matthew Williams, after all.

He was just happy, that when this had blown over, America would be taking up his post, revelling in being America, making his burger club, and he himself, could have a few good memories to take with him.

Of flashy smiles and bright blue eyes.

He stopped at his bus stop, lost in his thoughts, unaware that he was being called.

After the fifth or so time, Matthew looked up, bewildered at the sharp, "Hello?"

There he was, standing in front of him in a plaid scarf and a _very_ English looking cap, was the man from before. Alfred's _father_. With a start, Matthew stepped back in surprise.

"What good luck!" Arthur didn't seem to notice Matthew having been startled. "I am in a hurry, so I have to be quick but-" He was diving into his pocket.

Matthew was still stunned as he felt something was shoved in his hand.

"I honestly didn't think I'd see you again my lad! Really I didn't," was what was rushed at him. "What was your name again. Eric... Was i-" the English man glanced at his watch. "Oh bollocks! I'm sorry! I hope I can see you again, but I'm terribly late."

"O... okay." Matthew was stunned.

"Happy Christmas!"

And that was that, the Englishman had dashed off.

Blinking out of his reverie, Matthew looked down at his glove to see a crisp five dollar bill, and a large candy cane with a neat plaid bow tied around the middle. A note card was hanging from it.

_Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year_

"Happy Christmas..." He murmured, and Matthew finally sat down for the bus.

* * *

**Author's Notes: ** This chapter was fun to write. Sort of introduces the proper situation of the story. This was fun to write, and I had to re-write it from the original. Unfortunately this sort of debunks my later chapters, so I won't be updating within a week just because I gotta make sure it's GOOD, and I'm working on Feverish too!

This was lots of fun to do!

Also, it apparently reads differently the second time around. Haha. That was sort of intended.

Thanks very much for reading Perceptions! I'll continue to work hard on my other fanfictions. I just had this one written 'cause I had writer's block and this helped me get out of it. Awesomeness.

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**Lesson 3 Preview : **Just stay low. Be quiet. Perhaps if one keeps their head down, then trouble won't come calling. It was just better to not cause any more problems than they already were.

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**Read and REVIEW : **Reviews help all authors know what people like and also that you want to see more! So if you like it, review it! Not just my stories, but other people's too! Please! They make me have warm fuzzies.


	3. Never cause trouble for anyone

**Disclaimer** : This fanfiction is set in a generalized ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. It is based off of the characters and my interpretations of them. Character names _obviously_ used.

**Ownership :** Nope... I shouldn't have to say this, but I don't own Hetalia! Thank its awesome creator.

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**Lesson 3 Summary :** Sound advice would be to stay out of the way unless asked for. One never knows when they could cause the simplest problem for someone else. Speak when spoken to. Move when asked to. And most of all...

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**Lesson 3 : Never cause trouble for anyone**

The winter break had come and gone in what had felt like just a manner of seconds. Before long, Matthew found that the days had slipped him by. Before, he had plentiful days ahead of him to look forward to; many days had still yet been between him and University. However, he only felt this way until he realised, much to his surprise, that the next day he was going to have to go back to classes.

During this time, he had somehow managed to scrounge up all of his books for his semester. Having decided on taking five courses than the usual four that he had the last year, he had quite the number of books to lug around. His bag was heavy and plump with books ready for his first day of class, and he couldn't be more delighted at the prospect of a good, solid distraction for the next few months ahead.

Getting the money wasn't so _hard_ - he had the means to get it - but it was just difficult for him to order the books via phone, and personally pick them up from the on-campus bookstore when they arrived. As well as, he had difficulty with parting with _so much _money that had been rather difficult to make.

Matthew had also decided to forgo buying them from Sweden, unsure if his black-listing from borrowing them spread to purchasing them too.

He didn't want to cause the man any trouble, after all.

Even though there was a whole day left until classes, he was not looking forward to the day ahead of him. It was the day that he ritually took before every semester to seek out where all his classes were, and to map out the best routes to take to get to and from class. It helped him avoid collisions with people he'd rather not interact with.

And as far as he could already tell by looking at the map, he might need to purchase a _bicycle_ in order to make it to his classes on time.

Well. If he could go to the bookstore to buy his books, then he could do this.

Without letting himself stall further, Matthew vacated his small room and the home that he was renting it from. The owners had no idea he left, and probably didn't care so much as long as he wasn't out causing trouble. The last thing they wanted was a tenant that caused_ trouble_ when they had been so gracious in letting his sorry self rent from them. So he jammed on his boots properly as he walked away from the household and unfurled a black umbrella to protect against the light rain.

He certainly took his time in getting to the University. There was, of course, no reason to rush it at all. It wasn't like he really was _required_ to be there at any certain time to figure out his routes. So he stopped by a coffee shop, bought a hot-chocolate and meandered to Hetalia Metro rather lazily, just sipping the chocolaty brew absently as he went.

But he eventually arrived - as the University hadn't moved by a few miles since he had last been there - and he regrettably walked into campus.

So. Many. People. There were students and teachers alike already milling about here and there... in and out. It was crazy. Students that lived in-res were already back and probably doing the same as he was, searching out where their new classes were. They brushed past him without word or acknowledgement.

He could deal with that. He also completely understood.

As he went, minding himself, Matthew saw a group of students that were _obviously new_, by their awed faces and bright eyes exploring the whole of Hetalia Metro with a sort of dumbfounded amazement. Matthew nearly jerked his head away from politely watching them, when he saw the hulking form of Ludwig gesture to the group of new students for them to follow him.

He hadn't seen Matthew. Thank goodness.

He decided to duck his head down and pay close attention to his hot chocolate as he walked. No reason to gawk at the newcomers anyway.

However, he really couldn't help himself but look over the rim of the cup, and glance about with interest at what everyone else was doing. He didn't know why, and despite his displeasure at being in direct contact with anyone, watching people milling about _was_ interesting.

Ludwig, the great representative of Germany, was leading the newbies about, giving brief instructional tours to any group of new students he could find. The number was far less than the first semester, but there still were a fair few.

Feliciano, the representative of Italy, was shoving pamphlets into people's hands, trying to get them to get interest in his cooking club. A club that smelled painfully delicious to walk past the previous year. Every. Single. _Day_.

He wished he could have taken one of the pamphlets for a chance to smell the aromatic bliss that wafted down those hallways.

Berwald and Tino - Sweden and Finland, respectively - were just chatting together quietly while walking to the Representative Hall.

And -

_WHUMPH_

Matthew recoiled backwards as he bumped into something. He hadn't been paying attention during his voyeuristic activities, and he just barely caught himself before he fell backwards. However, his dear half-drunk cup of hot chocolate didn't lose its momentum, and splattered up and down the person he had bumped into.

… Oh dear.

"Augh!" was the articulate, instant complaint.

Matthew looked up, pulling back his umbrella to actually _see_ the person - his eyes widened in horror.

Alfred F. Jones, the new representative of America, was standing before him; who, moments before _had_ been wearing a clean-pressed white collared shirt and a nice tie under his jacket. The key words were 'had'; for now the rest of Matthew's beverage was decorating him like a poor graffiti job.

Matthew could do nothing but gape in dismay.

America didn't seem to have noticed _who_ he had been bumped by right away, as he was preoccupied by the horrible stain on his shirt. He grumbled to himself as he shook out his arms, "Come on! This was a _new shirt_! Dad whined at me to get a new one yesterday! God _damnit_!"

But when Alfred looked up to see _who_ it was, Matthew panicked; he dropped his umbrella, turned on his heels, and _ran_.

America called after him, but Matthew had run around the corner by that time and assumed it was now over. Heaving breaths, he berated himself for reacting so violently to something so simple. Sure, the new America didn't like him anymore, but that didn't mean he had to dash out of there like he had been caught doing something wrong.

He swallowed a few times, pressing his hand to his chest to regain breaths after such a quick mad-dash.

Well, at least it was over.

Not so. Alfred rounded the corner seconds later.

Matthew squeaked in surprise, forced some composure into himself, put on a shaky smile and gave a small wave. "U-... uh... Good morning..." He laughed awkwardly. "… Nice… um… day?"

Alfred was looking nothing more than extremely disapproving. "... It's raining," he supplied, flatly.

Matthew swallowed heavily, adjusting the bag at his side. Fretfully, he drummed his fingers on the strap and looked at the oh-so interesting ground. "S... sorry... I just panicked and... u-um... Yeah." Oh how _eloquent_ he was.

"Save your apologies," America said evenly, looking down at him still with distaste. "What are you up to?"

Up to? What was he up to? Was he up to something? Shifting, Matthew replied, swishing a small puddle with the ball of his foot, "Just... finding classes for tomorrow..."

The disbelief was evident in Alfred's tone when he spoke, "Really now? Do you have any proof? 'cause to me, it looks like you are slinking around if you run off that fast. Come on." He gestured with his hand as if expecting something. "Gimme proof."

Proof? Proof? Matthew tore open his bag, scrambling to find his timesheet and the map, and pulled them out. He noted how crumpled and folded they were, and pressed them as flat as he could against the damp bag before holding them out to Alfred.

He wasn't _sure_ if America actually had any authority to demand _anything_ from him. Really, he probably had no authority at all to do anything of the sort, but Matthew didn't reject his demands; in fear of what he'd do if he didn't.

Nevertheless, this could be a good thing too, right? Right? He wasn't quite sure what the good part was yet, but he'd find out.

After all, there was a good side to _everything_.

Alfred grunted, held the papers back out to the quietly trembling student and withdrew his hand. "Fine, whatever. Just watch yourself. Next time I'm gunna make you _pay_ for it."

Matthew nodded.

America, before turning, thrust something into Matthew's chest. His umbrella.

He was a bit surprised by its return, and looking to Alfred's back, he was even more surprised that he called out to the other. "W-wait!"

America stopped, and he turned to look at Matthew. Half forcibly disinterested and trying to look displeased, half genuinely curious over what Matthew wanted to say. "Yeah?" He asked casually. "What is it?"

Matthew stepped forward, wringing his hands to stop the quaking. The ground looked interesting again. Was that a penny?

"U-um... I just... I want..." He breathed in. "I... I'm really _sorry_ a-about before... I mean... I... it was weeks ago, and... It was weeks ago since I s-saw you but..." He mustered a glance up at Alfred before looking at the absolutely fascinating pavement. "... I'm _really sorry_."

A long breath was taken in by America, and then let out sharply.

"Why are you fucking _apologising?"_ He sounded more disgusted than any sympathetic emotion. "You're just gunna do shit like that again and again, so don't try to get any kind of sympathy vote from me. Just because I'm new here," Alfred said pointedly, "Doesn't mean I'm _stupid_."

Matthew shifted, glancing up at Alfred again to see those dazzlingly blue eyes, so cold and icy when directed at him. They made his spine tingle.

"Look. Let's break a deal here. You've caused a _lot_ of shit in your first year, and frankly, m'fuckin' surprised that you're still _allowed at this school_. So for whatever reason you are here, I want you to make a deal, got it?" It wasn't really a request.

Matthew nodded, gripping his hands tightly.

"First of all, don't talk to me. 'Kay? Just leave me alone. If you leave me alone, I'll just ignore you, got it? That's probably what you want, anyway, right?"

That was… sort of true. Matthew didn't know it at that time, but it was actually slight disappointment he was feeling aside from the relief. Relief that Alfred was stating that he was going to just actively pretend he wasn't there. Knowing that, Matthew was just glad that he wasn't going to have to consciously walk in a thirty-mile radius around the student.

"Second," America continued, "I don't wanna hear you doing any sort of more shit to do with the reps, 'kay? Think of me as security, and you don't want to be marked as an _international threat_. I can, and will, make sure you _do_ get kicked out if you cause _any_ sort of fucking trouble. Any," he emphasised.

Matthew nodded rapidly.

"Got it?"

"G... got it. I... That's easy..."

"Good. Now go make yourself scarce, you're good at that, right?"

Matthew nodded and moved past America and did just that. He stepped quickly, gripping his bag to his chest, his umbrella dangling from its strap around his wrist, and he disappeared around the building, the representative of America watching him as he went.

Why did he have the feeling - despite Alfred saying that he was going to ignore him - that somehow he was going to be watched by a _hound_ whenever he came near him? Maybe he should erect a thirty-mile - or at least metre - radius around Alfred.

. . .

The rest of the day was thankfully person-free and Matthew was free to explore the University to seek out the best routes for getting to his five classes. Luckily, they weren't all on the same days so it wouldn't be so terrible to try to get to them. But there were at least two days of every week where he was in for a forty-five minute, or _more,_ walk between classes. That wasn't including the time to _get_ to the first class either.

He was definitely going to need a bike.

So after hastily purchasing a cheap pre-packaged sandwich at the cafeteria with a crumpled five-dollar bill, Matthew started on his way home.

Chewing thoughtfully, he glanced over his scribbled-on paper and weighed the pros and cons of having a bike.

On one hand, he could get between classes faster, on the other, he had to load it on the bus twice a day, or just bike directly to school. Either option seemed undesirable in its own respects.

"- of course I have no idea where he is," came a British voice that interrupted his thoughts for a moment.

His subconscious must have recognised it, for Matthew stopped and turned to the source of it, chewing on the last remains of his sandwich as he looked at the two men that were standing there, peering at a University map.

"- Bloody hell. I have_ no_ idea where _any_ of this is! How am I supposed to just _know_ where Alfred is supposed to be? It's not like there's a convent little labelled dot with his name on it," grunted the very same Englishman that Matthew no longer wished to see.

It was odd, but Matthew was sure he had never run into a single person so much before. Maybe he had, and never noticed. Maybe Arthur's blatant _britishness_ had something to do with it and really just made him all the more recognisable.

Whatever the case really was, Matthew ducked his head down and moved to walk past.

An encounter on school grounds was _not_ going to be a good thing. At all.

A hand came down on his arm before he could get past them and he was tugged gently, politely. "Excuse moi," a French tone tittered, "I was wondering if you could 'elp us."

Matthew stiffened under the hand.

The grip released him at once. "Oh! I am sorry! I did not frighten you, did I?"

"Francis, don't just bloody _grab_ people at random! You could be labelled – though you already are in my books - as a per-... Oh! Hello again!"

Damn. Damn. Damn. This was exactly something that he was trying to _avoid_. Not encourage. Why couldn't he have walked past a few feet to the left? Then he'd be on his way and have no chance of 'Alfred F. Jones' noticing his father talking to _him_.

Matthew turned, unable to think of what to do other than run; and knowing that wasn't much of an option, he just smiled sheepishly and gave a one-handed half-wave. "H... hello. N… nice to see you, eh?"

"My! I do keep running into you! What a pleasure it is to meet you again. I do have to apologise for my haste earlier. I was dreadfully late for an appointment."

The Frenchman snuffed air out of his nose. "I say 'e is always late, if 'e does not get completely lost."

Arthur - Matthew still remembered his name - looked disapproving and shoved Francis aside with a grunt, "Who cares what you think, toad."

"Do... um... y... you need help...?" Why oh why was he offering? Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut? Everything went _so _much better if he kept his mouth shut.

"Oh! Could you? It'd be splendid if you did. See, I was fancying visiting Alfred on his first day, you see, since it's not 'officially' the beginning of class. I also wanted to meet the other Representatives. I was getting keen on meeting them after he was blathering on about them all."

Matthew smiled the best he could as he said this. "I... I can s-show you to Representative Hall. It's just on the way -"

The Englishman shook his head, "No no. That building is a bit... obvious, shall we say? No, we're actually looking for some place that Alfred would eat. It's just about time for him to want to gorge himself, I'm sure, and I was trying to find which place he is most likely to try to pack it all in."

"L'Amerique eats like an 'orse."

"... I have _no_ idea where he gets it from."

"There's a rather large place that sells burgers here, he brought me there the first d-" He squeaked suddenly when he realised what he had said.

"Oh? You've _met_ Alfred already?"

Shit. Shit. Shit. He had to do damage control. He wasn't sure _why_, but he had no inclination for the man to figure out who he was.

"W... yeah... kind of. Sorry. Um... I mean, Um... He might really like this burger place. It's nearby."

There was a short pause where he was being looked by the two men, and he shifted uncomfortably. Thankfully, after only a few seconds of this, Arthur responded as if nothing had happened, "Can you show us? I can't gather heads or tails of this map."

Swallowing, and relieved that neither of them made any assumed connections (maybe Alfred had never mentioned the encounter to them), he nodded and gestured. "J-just this way."

"_Thank you_," Arthur said gratefully, "You know, it's hard to find, in this world, some people as courteous as you are."

He had doubts about that.

Matthew walked, the Frenchman and Englishman following. He tried to keep a distance, but it was obvious that they were indeed following _him_, so he kept to himself and didn't look up for too long to see if anyone was watching. He did, however, glance about himself to see if Alfred would suddenly appear.

It'd be all over if that happened, and he'd have to make a break for it; because he really didn't want to see the Englishman's or the Frenchman's reactions to what America had to tell them about him. No.

However, Arthur wasn't one for being in complete silence, and he jogged up so he was walking more astride with the quiet student. "Tell me, you're starting up term again, aren't you?"

"... Y... yeah. I am."

"Taking many classes?"

"Y-yeah. F... five."

"Five? My _goodness_ you're in for a workload." He then asked, casually, "What classes are you taking?"

"T-three h-history classes... Um... Two languages..."

Francis fluttered up. "Oh? Language? Are you taking the beautiful language of French? Mn?"

Matthew, unfortunately, shook his head. "No... I'm not. U-um... German and... Mandarin..."

The Frenchman looked disapproving at that. "Ah. A pity, French is such a wonderful language. It is a shame you do not know it. Ah… It is a shame. So few people speak the language of love 'ere; I would 'ave loved to meet just _one_ person that could speak it."

"Oh, bottle it up, quit your whining. It's disgusting."

Before Matthew could stop himself, he said easily, "Je le parle..." He quickly explained, "I... I just... d... don't speak in French _that often_. And... I don't require classes for it..."

Francis looked like he had been given a bouquet of flowers. His face was so utterly delighted that the Englishman nearly recoiled in shock at it. "Francis, don't you even _begin_ to think-"

But Arthur couldn't stop him. Already too delighted with the concept of another person otherthan _himself_ that could speak the most beautiful - and romantic - language on Earth, Francis had gone out and done what he did best – invade people's personal space. Namely, Matthew's.

He had enveloped Matthew in a hug of glee. "That is _wonderful_! You can speak a beautiful language! Come! Speak to me in it!" He then began to prattle off in French. "Tu le parles? Quel bonheur! Parlons-y! L'anglais est terrible, n'est-ce pas? C'est trop barbare."

Arthur looked _horrified_ and he grabbed one of the man's arms. "Let him bloody go! You're practically strangers! You pretty much _are_, really! Let him go you great prune!"

Matthew _was_ horrified. He was locked in a very close embrace with a completely unfamiliar person that was French, who was babbling French _insistently_ at him, and _wasn't letting go_. The French didn't so much bother him; the whole 'not letting go' thing was, and it petrified him.

His head began to pound and his body went rigid at the contact; just as if he had been touched by something wet and slimy and he was waiting for it to drip off. Or perhaps like he had been told that there was a bee on him.

But the Frenchman was akin to a suction cup, and apparently, had been so deprived of French company that he really _really_ couldn't contain himself.

"Francis! Stop that this _instant!"_

Francis pouted in return, _still_ holding Matthew. "You are stupid l'Angleterre. I 'ave finally found _someone_ that I can talk to! I am just 'appy!"

"Get your lecherous hands _off of him_ you prat! Now! Get! Get off him!"

Matthew was quaking slightly under his grip, but his horror at being held made him stay stiff. The man _must_ have had no concept of personal space; else he'd have noticed the boy's revulsion to being touched as soon as he made contact.

"Hey!" A voice broke out amongst all of the hullabaloo. "What's going on! Dude! Francis! You aren't hitting on one of the students, are you? What the hell, man! I told you they were _off limits_. Geeze!"

The voice was neither British nor French. Rather, it was very distinctly _American_.

Matthew couldn't think of a more horrifying situation. He tried to move his arms, but found them deftly pressed against his sides by the hug he was still caught in.

Arthur and Francis turned their attention to Alfred who was striding up to them with raised eyebrows. "Come on! That's gross."

"Oh! We were just looking fo-... What happened to your _shirt_?" Arthur said and he walked to his son. "Bloody hell! I _just got you that_, and you went and spilt something all over it!" He picked up the garment that was draped over Alfred's arm in disgust.

"Woah! Don't blame me, dude," he put up his hands in defence. "Look, I was just minding my own business when that druggy spilt hot chocolate over me. _Not_ my fault."

Still hugged to the Frenchman, Matthew was pulled towards him in such a way that America couldn't really see who it was; but he was sure that was going to change soon enough if Francis dared to move. Matthew knew he was stuck, and he could only hope and wish that the Englishman wanted to separate off to spend time with his son.

... Somehow he doubted the planets would align so nicely.

It would have been nice, though.

"Oh good lord, you aren't burnt, are you?" Arthur was quick to say in response to Alfred's explanation, looking at America with examining eyes as if he was trying to look _through_ his clothes to see if he had been burned.

"Nah," Alfred waved absently. "It was lukewarm at best. But seriously, he was not paying attention to where he was going. Then he just _ran off_. Ah well, I dealt with it. Oh! And that Germany-guy leant me his shirt! That was pretty epic."

He demonstrated how the sleeves were a bit too long, as they peeked out of the sleeves of the coat.

"Well, let's wash and press that and return it straight away tomorrow. And give him a thank you note."

A roll of eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Mom."

Before Arthur could object, Alfred decided the conversation was now boring and he strode up to Francis that hadn't let go of his vice-like possessive grip of the poor Canadian boy. "... Dude, can you let the guy go now, ya perv."

"Non! 'e is French! 'e can speak the beautiful language!"

Wanting a better view of the captured student, America walked around them. "... Is that so? Yeah well, I don't think the school will be happy if you did anything to one of... their... ... students..."

Yep. He recognised him alright. The moment lavender met brilliant blue, Matthew pretty much knew that his identity was no longer a secret. He looked pleadingly at Alfred for whatever reason, but the American wouldn't have it.

"Do you have _any_ idea," Alfred started, straightening, his tone hardening, "_Who_ this is?"

"... E... Um... Eric, isn't it?" Arthur supplied, somewhat stunned. "Is everything alright? You seem a bit upset. Really, Francis is a bit of a lecher, but he really is mostly harmless when it runs down to it."

A horrified pause.

"Oh _god_ he isn't someone _important_ is he?" Arthur suddenly exclaimed. "Francis! Let go of him! Let go of Eric!"

Something was indeed wrong, Matthew _wasn't_ anyone 'important' per say, and America wasn't going to stand for any of it.

"Eric? _Eric?_" Alfred spat. "_You're_ the Eric that Dad went on about a few weeks ago? The one that he 'graciously picked out of the snow' and bought _tea_? You're _that Eric?_"

Francis had by this point, let go; mostly out of confusion for the sudden animosity. Arthur was stunned, and he didn't understand his son's behaviour at all. Normally the lad was very kind and caring, and while he was a bit _daft_ and _overzealous_ he didn't hold such tones towards _anyone_ he knew; unless he had a really _good_ reason.

"Y... Well yes. He is."

Matthew nodded stupidly.

"That's not 'Eric', Dad," America pointed sharply. "_That's_ Matthew Williams!"

"Matthew... Matthew... Why does that ring a bell?" Arthur looked at Matthew now, who sorely wished he had run away already, "Your name is Matthew? Why do I recognise that name?"

"That's because _he's_ that druggie I _told_ you about! The one the _school_ told you about! You know the guy you told me _explicitly_ to _avoid_?"

Matthew wanted to sidle out of the picture. That or, go back in time and tell his past-self that he should avoid Englishmen at all costs. It would have saved him from a whole lot of crap earlier. For some reason, he could stand another representative hating him, but the very idea of the Englishman or the Frenchman doing the same was a bit... Frustrating, at best.

"Wha... Surely _not_," came the protest from Alfred's father. "This is the very lad that told me earlier in the coffee shop that there was someone at this school who was the _wrong_ sort of person! He very well warned me, and indirectly you, about him! I daresay, Alfred, but your head isn't screwed on quite right if you feel right in accusing this poor boy!"

Alfred scoffed, looking more and more disgusted. "Yeah. He's not Eric. This is definitely _Matthew Williams_, the _past_ representative of _Canada_. The guy I told you about! Remember? The guy that somehow got me to buy _lunch_ for him!"

Francis looked at Matthew oddly, then focused on Alfred and Arthur, not sure of what to think.

Slowly, Matthew startled to step backwards, but stopped whenever Francis glanced at him. Matthew fidgeted. How did this situation just go from bad to worse...?

America just continued, "And look! He somehow convinced you to buy food for _him_! Just ask him yourself!"

"I bought tea for him because I felt _sorry _for hi-" He turned sharply, noticing how Matthew had just slipped from Francis' side and was making an epic dash for it.

"_See!_" Alfred gestured.

"Oh good god. Was I _scammed_?"

"Euch! I touched 'im!"

"Dad! Geeze! I told you to be careful!"

"I had no bloody clue! Not-a-one! I don't believe it! He really didn't seem like the sort of person that'd -"

"Well, newsflash," Alfred waved his arms in front of himself in a wide motion, "He is."

Francis' nose was wrinkled in disgust. "Augh. I do not want to believe it. Now that I think of it... 'e did seem a bit... off."

Arthur was glancing to where the boy had disappeared to and he absently straightened his sleeves in embarrassment. "Well. Really. I thought that something was wrong. Just not... quite... _That_ wrong, if you get my meaning." He breathed out. "Ah well. Nothing more we can do about it. Lessons learned."

"You got that right. Whatever. I gave him a good talking-to before. Probably why he ran off like that." He added then in a mumbled afterthought, "And he probably is hiding something… Anyway! I told him to basically stay away from me. He was pretty ready to listen when he saw that I was serious _and_ that I wasn't going to get caught up in some pity-party of his."

Arthur just shook his head, not wanting to say anything more on the subject, and really having nothing more to contribute.

"Alright Alfred."

America looked annoyed still, but triumphant. He looked like he somehow had managed to vanquish something undesirable from harming his family before it was too late; and a good thing too. His father was a rather charitable man. It'd be almost too easy to get him to donate anything of value if someone really looked like they _needed _it.

Well, he decided, that the kid looked like he needed a fist in the face if he dared try to pull the wool over his father's eyes again.

He didn't think that'd be a problem though.

"Augh. Enough of this. Let's get burgers! I found this _great_ place here! I'm totally going to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner here! So delicious. And they have these little packets of -"

And so they went.

. . .

Matthew paced around his bedroom, hands locked behind his back. He had effectively dashed off campus, jogged to the bus stop and gone _straight home_ after that incident. Clearly, after two such incidents under his belt – in one day, even - he couldn't be sure that he wasn't going to be able to avoid a third one. What then? Germany? Sweden? Was he going to accidently fall off something and in front of a group of representatives? School authorities? Really.

His luck was _terrible_.

But he couldn't allow himself to think that. No. No it was a good thing. It was a _good thing_ that it had happened.

It was already obvious that it was going to happen anyway, just like with Alfred. And while he never really was expecting to see the Englishman again, it was a good and relieving thing to know that he knew the truth.

Though…

_Had_ he called himself Eric before? That really didn't seem like something he'd do... But maybe perhaps he did. Maybe he did call himself Eric for whatever reason, and forgot about it. He wouldn't put it past himself; he _was_ really odd, after all.

He continued to pace about his room, one of his hands now around a thin curved object, deliberating whether or not to just toss it out.

Should he? Shouldn't he?

He rolled the pristine candy cane with the re-tied plaid ribbon between his fingers, looking down at it with distressed purple eyes.

Should he...?

His hand reached over the garbage can, holding the candy cane.

Really, he didn't like sweets too much, and he had only kept it because... well... it had been such a nice gift. But the Englishman probably regretted giving it to him already, so the sentiment was gone.

It wasn't really a _gift_ anymore. More like a mistake.

Wouldn't he be greedy for keeping it?

He sighed, closing his eyes and he let it hit the bottom of the empty can with a _clunk_. In a few strides he went to his futon and sat down on it with a _thump_. He stared at the black metal bin for a good long several minutes.

Maybe he should send it back? No no. That'd be weird, right? He was weird enough. Besides, how was he supposed to do that? No way he could ask for their address, or even approach America to ask him to return it.

Besides, who returned _candy canes_?

He decided that it was for the best if he just forget about it entirely, and get on with his day. Yes. That's exactly what he was going to do. Just get on with it.

He lay down and rolled onto his side, facing the peeling-wallpapered wall defiantly.

The candy cane's presence in the garbage can felt warm on his back and he tossed and turned for several minutes before he finally sat up.

It was... _just_ a candy cane... after all...

... Wouldn't it just be a waste...?

He tried to convince himself of this as he stood, strode back to the garbage can and fished the cane out of it.

With a sound of disappointment, he saw that the drop had effectively fractured it. A clean crack ran through it, severing it in half. But it wasn't _smashed_ or anything.

He slid the plaid ribbon down to cover the blemish and held it out again, tilting his head. There. Not so bad.

He stepped back to his futon and put the candy cane rightfully back where it had been since he got it - on a tack on the wall. Right next to various paper clippings and mementos he had tacked or taped there.

He sighed before plopping backwards into a chair.

He couldn't wait till school started. He'd rather study for endless hours into the evening on history, linguistics and language before ever even wanting to _attempt_ dealing with all that again.

Well. School started officially tomorrow.

He could wait till then.

Until then, he flopped backwards on his futon again, and stared at the candy cane on his wall.

* * *

**Author's Notes :** This is really where the story goes differently than what I had already written up way before. I had made some choices here and there, and it has worked out _much_ better anyway.

Thanks to Ophelion for Beta'ing as normal, _but_ she did something extra! She also was telling me a lot about University life, since... I don't go to University. I never have. So. Thanks to her. I wanted to keep it from feeling like a highschool, since I very much gathered that University and highschool are different. Quite different.

Also, thanks to ephemeralDELUSiON for translating the French for me. She SPEAKS FRENCH. So I doubt it's wrong! Thanks so much for translating this for me even though you suggested the translations to be for Feverish. Hahaha...

I don't think there'll be much more French, really. We shall see. All depends on what the characters do, eh?

Lesson four coming up already! Waoh!

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**Lesson 4 Preview :** When life has got one down, when life doesn't seem it's going to turn around... It's just better to focus on the silver lining. The cup is half full... Everything has a good side...

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Please please please **Read and REVIEW : **Not only for me, but for other author's too! If you enjoyed it, review it, please! It does all Fanfiction author's a great favour! And I love to read them all! I'll try to respond if I can.


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